Estoilic Confluence
by darkintrigue
Summary: Angsty little series of Auron vignettes, an introspective look at Auron. Ties into "Unintentional" but works as a stand a lone too. Please r+r.
1. Excommunicated

Disclaimer: This is the only one. I don't own anything to do with Final Fantasy X.

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Excommunicated.

The word stung me like a blow to the face. Such a severe punishment for a minor, trifling transgression. Was it even a misdemeanour? I would say it was a welcome escape for us both. The Maester's daughter and I, we do not get along. Heh. That is perhaps an understatement; we detest one another. Yet still, our union would have been held in high regard within the Yevon order. Indeed, my advancement within the order rested on it. A promotion is not worth the life long misery the marriage would entail. 

"The Maester's daughter and the Warrior Monk, what an interesting pair! He's expected to achieve great things you know, perhaps even become Maester when her father ascends to the Farplane. They say that is why the Maester wishes the marriage." 

Fools. They think I don't know what they say about me. I know. I just don't give a damn. I really couldn't care less about becoming a Maester; they're all Yevondamn hypocrites anyway. Them with their teachings that forbid the use of the heathen's machina then go and install the damn things in the temples. If that is not dissimulation I don't know what is. 

I find myself here on the outside of the temple where once I had been within. It doesn't bother me that I must find my own path from here on; I don't care that Yevon sneers at me. What scares me is the fact that I am no longer a part of anything. The only family I knew has been ripped away from me in spite. The scared orphan child I was when I came to the order still holds some sway over my actions; I want to cling to the security and comfort my routine driven life held for me. But it is gone and I can't get it back. My pride prevents me from showing any emotion to them, they will never know of this turmoil. Never_. _

Excommunicated. 

As a monk, I have been trained to fear no foe, human nor fiend, yet this word makes me break out in a cold sweat. Who would have guessed that such a small word could hold within its utterance such terror? There have been others unfortunate enough or stupid enough to seal their fate as an ex-monk before, but I never thought I would be one within their ranks. I had always thought…it doesn't matter. It's not going to happen now, so why make the torment two-fold by thinking on what might have been? I can't believe I threw it all away on the strength of one chance encounter with a woman who may not even remember me. I have never been one to take risks. Stoical, yes. Dependable, definitely. But risk taker? Chance is not a word I have in my vocabulary. I leave nothing to fate. Yet here I am, entrusting the rest of my life to the stars. Fool that I am. Changed forever by whom? By her and her bewitching eyes.

I can remember the look on Kinoc's face when I told him of my decision. I laugh about it even now as I walk, bloodied and sore, to the address on the scrap of paper I cling to. People part as I stroll past them, my progress unhindered for once. I suppose a ragged Warrior Monk chuckling to himself would unnerve most people. I thought Kinoc's eyes were going to fall out of his head when I said I wouldn't marry the Maester's daughter. He saw it in my face that something had happened to cause such a dramatic turn in my decision. I rarely smile. She made me smile, even laugh. A lot. It makes me wonder what else she could do if she put her mind to it, for she performed those small miracles unconsciously, not knowing how seldom I allow joy to grace my visage. He warned me of my fate, but still he gave his blessing. The cynical side of me wonders if it is because he knew the promotion meant for me would pass to him in my absence. I know it to be false. Kinoc, he was a true friend to me. We were two kindred souls who found each other within an uncaring temple. 

When we were small, we used to go to the roof of the temple in the dead of night, the same roof where I pondered the proposal mere hours ago. We used to talk of everything and nothing. He was always the jovial child, the one the priest's and visitors to the temple would dote on. They were wary of me, the small, moody boy in the corner, eyeing them critically with my russet gaze. The wariness turned to apprehension, even fear as I grew, for then I had height and power on my side. It was uncalled for. Perhaps…perhaps if someone had shown me the kindness they bestowed so easily upon Kinoc I wouldn't have turned to myself to solve life's problems. Again, why bother with the technicalities of what ifs and maybes? The scepticism is part of me now, forever entwined with my sarcasm and mistrust. No one can change that. 

Can they?

The first few steps as I left the temple were the hardest I have ever had to make, every step more difficult than the last. But now, as the temple fades from sight and the small house that is my destination comes into view, I find I am almost running. I have to laugh at that. I always said that love was for the fools of the world, yet here I am, a fool in love. Love after one conversation, one meeting. How the fates must be laughing now, their revenge on the non-believer to make him experience it for himself. Cruel, twisted…I like them better already. At least now I know they have a sense of irony. 

Two years ago, though it seems so much longer now, Kinoc and I sneaked out of the garrison. We broke the rules. Actually, he _broke the rules. In following him to ensure he wouldn't do anything even more foolish he made sure I broke them too. He had met a girl, he said he was in love with her. I said he was a fool, funnily enough. I argued that he knew nothing of love. Kinoc had waved away my rage. He asked me why I was so against happiness, my own and that of others. To tell the truth, his words that day, they made me think. Am I really against cheer? I don't think so, but then why do I make it so hard for others to bring me bliss? Some have tried. All have failed. She didn't even try and she has succeeded. It bothers me. Maybe that is what I was looking for. Someone to take me at face value, see past the proper speech, the uptight values I hold so dear and see…me. She didn't question me like the rest; she inquired about Auron the person, not Auron the monk. _

We are two separate entities. Auron the person wants to know love, he has craved closeness since he was a child. He believes in such laughable ideas as love at first sight, soul mates and fate. Auron the monk pushes those who try to get close to him away, using his solitude as a barrier from the world. He has been hurt too much, this way he ensures his heart remains intact, if cold and stone like. He believes you make your own destiny, the notion that it is written, that the path one takes through life is as some estoilic confluence is nonsensical to him. He wishes it were not the case. Both men want their story to have a happy ending. Only one can see it as a possibility. 

I talk of stories. I talk of dreams_. A wiser man than me once wrote that dreams are "the children of an idle brain begot of nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air and more inconstant than the wind." I know the statement to be true, but why then do I still wish to dream of the joy that has eluded me throughout my life? The joy I think she can give me? In the battery-induced slumber outside of my former home, I dreamt a dream. I dreamed that she came to me, whispering words of adoration and comfort. Comfort. I have not felt comfort for as long as I can remember. Was my dream "vain fantasy"? Probably. Who could love one such as I, a man emotionally scared by organisation afraid to breed into its warriors love and compassion? I feel only Kinoc has stopped my heart from turning completely to stone, he clung onto his own humanity with a fierce determination that even now I find admirable. He made me care for his well being through the friendship that he offered me so selflessly. And so, I learned of love and I learned of compassion. Though much of what he taught may be dead to me now I am no longer an impressionable child, it still lingers somewhere within me. It'll just take someone to coax it to bloom once more. Someone special. Someone like _her_. _

She is my dreamer. I can see her in my minds eye, dancing without a care as to who may watch, laughing with the joy of one who is truly alive, who loves life. I wish…I could join her. I want to throw off the shackles that bind me and soar with her above the constraints of propriety. Maybe one day I will, maybe she'll teach me. I have a feeling that she sees in me something I do not. She is grace and love personified. I am the personification of mindless, clumsy war. There is no hate in me, but until now there has been no love either. I have survived an existence, not lived a life. I would like to experience life. Travel the whole of Spira, see the end of Sin for good…make love to my dreamer on a secluded beach, whisper sweet nothings into her ear as the sun rises over the horizon. 

I watch her now, my dreamer. Watching as she slumbers peacefully next to me. She is mine and I belong to her, every part. I wonder if she dreams of me. The lessons she has taught me in our short time together will remain with me for the rest of my life. My life_. She gave it back to me. The teachings of life should serve me well on the pilgrimage. I have no will to leave her; my heart starts to ache as the sun rises, exuding its light. Despite the growing warmth I feel so cold. The dawn brings with it death. My dreamer stirs, an unconscious touch from her making me shiver. The luminary plays with her contours; casting shades and shadows as it strokes her with mellifluous fingertips. Insane as it may be, I am jealous that the life-giving orb can touch her with such impunity. I look over to her as she gazes up at me, sleep making her eyes heavy. _

Excommunicated.

I care not. It holds no fear for me now. Because of her. My fear now is losing her.

My dreamer. My wife. I love you.

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Just a little idea I had. Review, flame, whatever. I'm sorry, I'm feeling especially bitter today. That's what happens when no one reviews your fic and you sweat blood over it. Again, my apologies. Quote is from Romeo and Juliet by the great bard and is said by Mercutio.

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	2. Secrets

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I'm dead. 

Only two little words, so why are they so hard to say? Maybe because I look into her eyes and see trust, love and hope. Maybe because I feel that if I tell her this most secret of secrets her eyes will become dull and her feelings for me disintegrate into nothingness, mere pyreflies on the winds of time. I underestimate her I know, underestimate the bond we once shared, the bond I hope that still lingers on deep within her. Her initial anger has shown she still cares, but is it love or mere relief? I am no longer the man I was, for who could love me as I am now? Older, more rugged and physically scarred with the memory of my death. It will never allow me to forget. I never want to forget, it keeps me sane.

I admit my reasons for accompanying the young summoner on her pilgrimage were purely selfish. The small chance that I might see my only reason for still walking the lands of Spira was lure enough to ensure my Guardianship. Despite the news of her death, for some reason my hope still remained. I journeyed under the pretence of promise. I fought for her_. Perhaps I felt that I owed some duty to my wife for leaving her so selfishly and so that is why I protect her family. I realise now that it is not the case. I protect _our _family. Back at my rightful place at her side my heart sings, the barriers I spent a decade building and reinforcing around my breaking heart quickly broken by small gestures. A light touch, a loving word reduces me to puerile glee. The boy from Zanarkand is amused and I do not have the will to care._

Her verdant stare purposely avoids my own russet gaze when I question her about the past; it seems she too has secrets she wishes to keep clandestine. She keeps the questions at bay with the smile that could lull wild beasts into submission; its effect on me, one already intoxicated by her very presence, is even more impressive. I bow to her will without dispute or struggle. The legendary Guardian is no match for the wiles of his woman. Jecht would laugh at me now if he weren't trapped as the harbinger. For all my younger colleagues believe I willing lead the summoner to her death, the truth is I shall not stand idly by and watch more lives be destroyed. Sin will_ fall, but not at the cost of the summoner. We _will_ find another way._

I cannot help but feel the sharp stab of jealousy as I watch her interact with Wakka and the others. I do not dispute the love she holds for me, but still the insecurity remains, bred of lifetime of hardship. Can they give her something I cannot? I doubt I can provide her with the children we both desire, all I can offer to her is my heart, my love, my protection for a lifetime and beyond. Is that enough? I am fearful my inadequacies will drive her from my arms into those of another. But what is love and life without imperfections? They are what make us unique, individual in a sea of faces. This is my only comfort. 

I have to laugh as I look back, lest the tears begin to fall freely. The day I do not allow her eyes to sway my decision, the day my decisiveness stands by me is the day she breaks. The day she tells me the secrets that have been haunting her. My heart stops beating and the blood rushing through my veins stills and turns to ice. Two words and I understand. Two words and I sympathise with the plight that has blighted her existence for years. Two words and I despise myself more than I had thought possible.

I'm dead.

Doesn't she know I was meant to be the one with the shocking revelations? Doesn't she know she is meant to be alive and well? Doesn't she know I weep for the path she chose? It was not meant to be this way. I would have done anything, given my life_ if necessary to dissuade her from the path of the summoner. But I did give my life and it was that decision that contributed to her demise. I listen to how she died and feel the chilled fingertips of déjà vu stroke gently up my spine. Yunalesca. The revenge I plotted as a young man is nothing compared to the fiery inferno of ire that fuels me now. I will avenge us all, my love. For all the lives she has destroyed, all the futures and dreams the witch has snatched devoid of mercy _she shall pay_. _

Although my horror must have been clear to her, she is admirably calm as I trade my secret for hers. She doesn't flinch as I explain to her my condition mirrors her own, my death years before hers also by the hand of Yunalesca. Perhaps because she has spent the last ten years believing I was dead, the notion that I am unsent is not too far a leap for her rational mind to comprehend. I on the other hand had always imagined her remarried with children. Not unsent and living a life of solitude. She was always too vibrant, too alive for that. Though life may have deserted us, we have not deserted life. The spark, the sheer pleasure of being_ still remains._

She looks up at me through a veil of tears, the anguish clear and plain to see, even to one as clueless as I. I dread to ask the question, fearful of the answer should I allow her pain to surface. Despite my hesitation I press on and am rewarded with a disclosure that makes me sink to my knees. While I protected her father and died in vain she carried my child. My son. I have a son. I am a father. I repeat these words to myself, unable to keep the childish joy from my face. So enraptured am I with the news I do not notice as she begins to keen, her body shaking from the great, wracking sobs. When the first flush of exultation wears off I turn to her, a frown creasing my brow. I wonder to myself what can possibly be wrong when everything is so right with the world? We are a family and despite death we can raise our child together.

He's dead.

Fate is cruel. To learn you have an heir only to have him snatched back mere moments later is sadistic in the extreme. I shake my head, reeling; unable to believe that what had been so perfect but minutes before has been crushed underfoot by the ruin that is destiny. To numb the pain we find solace in each other's embrace, a touch infinitely more comforting than words. The touch that says I'm sorry. The caress that tells you it wasn't your fault. The kiss that screams I love you. The lovemaking that whispers I'm here. I adore you. We'll never be parted again. Promises of skin made good by the hearts of lovers, of soul mates. 

We don't need words. Our actions speak for us. Together we can conquer armies and move mountains. Without her I am lost. Death cannot separate us. Love brings us together. As I lie by her side, lost in her eyes, one thought prevails. No matter what, I won'_t fail you again. You have my word. _

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A/N: Bit shorter than last time, but I hope is still ok. Leave me a review! Is my birthday! Yay! 

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